


Lullabies

by iammisscullen



Category: One Direction
Genre: Fluff, M/M, zarry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 03:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3311687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iammisscullen/pseuds/iammisscullen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry can't sleep, finds a place he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lullabies

**Author's Note:**

> Ha! I wanted a 100 something drabble but then I can never write that short, always the pretentious twat that I am.  
> So the poem at the beginning is originally written by me. Be kind to it, I'm not William Shakespeare. Thanks for reading! :) xoxo

_The steady beating of your heart_

_And your even breathing_

_Lulls me back,_

_When the monsters inside my head,_

_And the world outside my window_

_Gets too loud_

_That I can’t find myself._

**_-_ iammisscullen**

 

The night is dark but the flashes of the cameras pierce through it like lightning. The whole neighbourhood is asleep but the buzzing of the clubs break the silence. And Harry had enough.

His head is pounding as he thinks of so many things: the past, the future, the present. He’s imagining his face on the headlines of the papers again tomorrow. And it’s too much.

He catches a cab and the driver asks him where to go. He doesn’t know.

He can’t go home to his empty house with its unfamiliar furniture, cold walls, and shallow rooms. He doesn’t want to lie down to his huge bed that always feels so lonely, so spacious like he could get lost into its abyss of melancholy.

Sometimes when he’s body clock is so messed up that he can’t sleep, he transfers under his dinner table with corners he can fill, white painted wood above his head that reminds him of his small room in his old house in Cheshire where his head can reach the ceiling if he stands up on his bed. Crazy as it may sound, he sleeps there more than enough that he’d posted _Star Explosion Glow in the Dark_ under the table, just because he can.

But tonight, even the light from his _Star Explosion Glow in the Dark_ can’t seem to calm him down and let him get the rest that he really need.

So Harry doesn’t go home.

He will crawl to someone else’s bed like he always do when he can’t fix things himself, when his own hands can’t stop the blood from gushing out of his wounds that he hides from the rest of the world. So when it gets too much, Harry finds his lullaby.

It’s after 12 in the morning when he gets to his destination. His drunk but sober enough to figure out how to slot his spare key to the lock, coherent enough to thread his way through the furniture in the living room and the steps of the stairs. He may have tripped once – four times actually, if you want the proper statistics.

He navigates easily on the second floor and finds the right door, lets himself in. He removes his boot and it thuds loudly as it hits the floor but the person on the bed doesn’t stir – half dead to the world.

He has removed every piece of clothing except for his tight jeans that seems to be testing his hands and legs coordination. Of course, he falls on his bum trying to remove his pants like a baby giraffe that he is. He lets out an _Ow_ and the figure on the bed grunts awake.

‘Haz?’ Raspy is the voice.

‘Yeah,’ Harry answers, successfully freeing himself of his clothes except for his boxers.

There’s a mumble and Harry translates it as an invitation to come to bed. Mentally and physically tired, Harry slowly gets to the bed and crawls under the duvet. His body unconsciously gravitates to the warmth of the heated body next to him.

‘Yar freezin,’ the other man mumbles, not pushing Harry away but pulling him close.

He lies his head down to where Zayn’s heart beats steadily in his chest. ‘Can’t sleep,’ he says but he yawns. He hears Zayn’s soft chuckle.

‘S’okay,’ Zayn assures and places a kiss on top of Harry’s messy curls. He yawns as well.

‘Yeah.’ Harry snuggles closer. ‘S’okay… now.’ And Harry knows it’s true because he can hear Zayn’s beating heart, can feel the rise and fall of Zayn’s warm chest under his cold fingertips. These are his lullabies that grounds him, settles his mind into sleep, shields him from everything that stirs his soul into confusion. Because Zayn’s the force that pulls Harry back when Harry feels like it’s all too much in his head. Zayn’s the home that Harry can find himself whenever he feels lost with the world spinning rapidly around himself.

And it’s been a while since Harry had slept so soundly.

 

  _Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos. Comments. You know the drill.  
> You can talk to me if you want to fangirl over Zarry. I don't bite.  
> Thanks again! :) xoxo


End file.
